Wrath
by TheAnarchistEire
Summary: A skilled thief and feared assassin from Morrowind decides he needs a change of scenery, and so travels to Skyrim. After one too many drinks in the Bee and Barb, he awakes to find himself in the Riften jail…


Wrath drifted slowly back into the realm of consciousness. He cracked open an eye and immediately regretted the decision. His head was pounding and even the slightest movement sent waves of dizziness crashing over him. After a few minutes, Wrath felt well enough to slowly open his eyes. What at first had seemed like a blinding light turned out to be weak, flickering torchlight. The elf sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings. He was in a cell of some sort. Barely furnished, with a bucket in the corner that served as a toilet. There was a single rusted shackle on the mossy stone wall. Wrath struggled to remember how he had ended up here.

The last thing he could recall was drinking in the Bee and Barb. Then a priest of Mara had come in and started preaching about love and forgiveness. He wouldn't shut up and Wrath had had enough rambling for one night. After that there were only flashes. The priest lying on the floor with a bloody nose. Riften guards trying to restrain him. Being dragged by six guards over rough cobblestones. Being roughly thrust through a door. Wrath came back to reality. Trying to figure out how he got here was immaterial. All that mattered right now was getting out. He looked through the bars and noted two guards patrolling the room with the cells, and another standing just outside the door. Gods knew how many more guards lay between there and the exit. There had to be another way. This city was home to the Thieves Guild after all.

He turned his attention to the single shackle on the wall behind him. There was something odd about it. Wrath moved closer to inspect it. the rust was just a cover, behind that the shackle was well oiled, looking more like a latch than anything. He allowed himself a small smirk. Looks like he was right after all. Making sure none of the guards could see what he was doing, Wrath pulled the shackle, and a section of the wall swung open soundlessly. They must pay one of the guards to oil the hinges mused Wrath. Clever. He darted into the passageway, making sure the entrance closed up behind him. The tunnel led on for a few meters, then forked. Wrath chose the path that ran parallel to the exit and moved quickly onwards, but not before snagging a torch from its bracket. Being able to see would be a huge advantage.

Up ahead Wrath could hear the sounds of laughter and conversation. He inched slowly closer, turning a corner to find a grate in the side of a wall, and a chest marked "Prisoner Belongings". Leaving the torch behind so as not to attract attention, Wrath approached the grate. Locked. No matter, a skilled thief such as himself always kept a spare lockpick hidden on his person. He fished the pick out of its hiding place and began to carefully align the pins inside the mechanism. The lock was not overly complex and in less than a minute, it popped open. Wrath slowly lowered the grate to the ground, careful not to make any noise. He slowly leaned out and looked around. No guards in sight. He began working the lock on the chest, which was almost simpler than the one on the grate. After it was opened, Wrath reached inside. Some mourner's clothes, spare lockpicks, some gold, a healing potion, and an iron dagger.

Wrath quickly closed the chest and the grate and dressed in the mourner's clothes, sheathing the dagger. He followed the tunnel, which was now filling with water, until he came to the exit, a broken sewage grate. He splashed into the water and began swimming to the northern gate. The guard on duty raised an eyebrow as he approached.

"Fancied a late night swim, did we?"

"Something like that," replied Wrath.

"Ok, enough with the small talk. Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor's tax."

Wrath chuckled. The guard obviously didn't realise he had already tried this one on him. Wrath decided to play along.

"What's the tax for?" he asked.

"For the privilege of entering the city. What does it matter?" the guard replied hotly.

"This is obviously a shakedown," Wrath countered evenly.

The guard looked surprised, and then glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot.

"All right, keep your voice down… you want everyone to hear you? I'll let you in; just let me unlock the gate."

The guard ambled over to the gate, taking his time to unlock it.

"The gate's unlocked, you can head inside when you're ready," the guard said gruffly.

Wrath walked swiftly towards town to the Bee and Barb, hoping he would still be allowed access to his room. He had rented it for a week after all. He was barely in the door when the Argonian barmaid, Keerava, was staring daggers at him, but didn't say anything. He was about to ascend the stairs when a man dressed like a rich merchant approached him. According to Wrath's files (he liked to keep tabs on anyone of note he was likely to encounter), this man was Brynjolf, a prominent member of the Thieves' Guild.

"Running a little light in the pockets, lad?"

The man's accent was pleasant, inviting. It was the kind of voice that drew you in, made you want to hear more. A useful trick for someone of his profession, mused Wrath.

Wrath feigned innocence. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Your pockets, they're a little low on coin… I can tell."

Wrath instinctively slipped his hand into his coin purse and breathed a sigh of relief. Still there. Brynjolf, for his part, didn't seem to notice.

"My wealth is none of your business," said Wrath gruffly, meaning it.

"Oh but that's where you're wrong, lad. Wealth is my business."

Wrath prepared himself for a potential brawl, resting his left hand on his dagger.

"Maybe you'd like a taste?"

Wrath relaxed slightly. "What do you have in mind?"

Brynjolf flashed him a grin before continuing. "I've got a bit of an errand to preform, but I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid."

Wrath liked where this was going. A chance to show off his skills, and maybe make some gold while he was at it.

"What do I have to do?"

"Simple… I'm going to cause a distraction, and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing.""

Wrath felt like a little context was in order. "Why plant the ring on Brand-Shei?"

Brynjolf's expression darkened. "There's someone who wants to see him put out of business, permanently. That's all you need to know." Brynjolf turned and walked to the door. Just before he stepped out into the night, he turned. "I'll be out in the market all day, from eight in the morning until eight in the evening. Meet me then, if you've still got the stomach for it." With that, he left.

Wrath ascended the stairs to his room, smiling to himself. Tomorrow, he was going to be welcomed into the Thieves' Guild.

**A/N:**

**This is just an idea I had for a Skyrim fic. (Obviously) I started using the Skyrim Unbound mod and felt like writing about my adventures. If tis first chapter gets a good response (in the form of reviews, favs and follows), then I will of course continue. I intend to play through the Thieves' Guild and Dark Brotherhood storylines, but after that Talos knows what could happen!**


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